


wish for rest (more than water or food or breath)

by the_ragnarok



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: Aftercare, Ass to Mouth, Awkward Sexual Situations, Begging, Consent Issues, Dubious Consent, Humiliation, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mention of Panic Attacks, Orgasm Delay/Denial
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-22
Updated: 2016-01-22
Packaged: 2018-05-15 12:42:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,481
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5785714
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_ragnarok/pseuds/the_ragnarok
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"There aren't any wrong choices, now," Harold says. His voice is very gentle, and it <i>hurts</i>, and John needs it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	wish for rest (more than water or food or breath)

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Deal](https://archiveofourown.org/works/5548751) by [Code16](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Code16/pseuds/Code16). 



> From the notes to Deal: _John has the power to ask people for things they wouldn’t have done otherwise but are on some level open to, and in return he owes them sexual satisfaction however they might want it._
> 
> this is future!fic where Harold knows of John’s ability and takes care of him after he has to use it. thanks to Code16 for her kind permission to play in her sandbox!
> 
> The begging, humiliation, ass-to-mouth and consent issues refer to John/OMC, which happens offscreen and is described briefly.

The first thing John does after stepping out of the hotel room is find a bathroom. He washes his face thoroughly, rinses his mouth. The water's metallic taste is a welcome alternative.

His earpiece comes to life with a crackle of static. "Can you come to the place on 45th?" Harold asks. "I'll be there."

"Sure thing." Days like today are why John affects a raspy voice: makes it harder to tell the difference, hear what he just did from the way he speaks.

It's okay if Harold hears, though, which is new and weird and a profound relief. There's nothing John needs to hide. Harold already knows.

~~

John makes a beeline for the bathroom. His skin itches with wanting to shower, but before that he brushes his teeth until he taste nothing but mint. The rinse water run pink.

"I've pre-set the temperature." Harold's voice comes muffled from the outside. "Scalding yourself won't help."

John rolls his eyes but when he steps inside, the water is perfect. For a startled moment he just stands there, letting the warmth wash over him.

Then he grabs the soap and starts scrubbing.

~~

There are clean clothes waiting for John, both a suit and a set of flannel pajamas. John ignores both and throws on a thick, fluffy terry cloth robe instead.

Harold's waiting for him outside. He has a cup of tea in his hands, another is on the table. John picks it up and drinks. It's unsweetened, the way he likes it, the taste bitter and complicated on his tongue.

"I just want to say," Harold says quietly, "how very happy I am that you're back safely."

John shrugs. "I was never in any real danger."

Harold's mouth thins a little bit, but he says, "Even so." He tilts his head. "Would you prefer me to touch you, or leave you be?"

Under his robe, John is still hard. That's what Gianno wanted: he'd fucked John, came inside him without getting John off, had John beg him for orgasm, had John suck him off back to full hardness before Gianno backed away and finished himself off, spurting all over John's face and laughing.

John feels his face going blank, turning away.

Harold's in front of him. "John. Will you look at me?"

Slowly, John turns back. He keeps his eyes averted, tracking Harold in his peripheral vision.

Harold's eyes are a little too bright, his mouth trembling very slightly. "You saved a life today, John. You're a hero. I can't find words to show my admiration for you. And to do that, you've had to go through something utterly awful."

It's too much. John closes his eyes, shoulders tensing, breath creaking like a door that's been shut for too long.

"There aren't any wrong choices, now," Harold says. His voice is very gentle, and it _hurts_ , and John needs it. He feels himself cracking like ice in a spring thaw. "You've done what you had to do, and now it's time to rest and heal. Only you know how best to go about it."

John drags his eyes open. In a rusty voice, he says, "No wrong choices? What if I wanted to take an automatic weapon and do target practice on passers by?"

Harold's face doesn't change. "Is that what you want?"

John inhales, sucking in air. "No."

A wry smile brushes over Harold's lips. "Then let's leave the hypotheticals for later. What _do_ you want?"

Actions are easier than words, now as always. He pulls Harold close and kisses him.

Harold kisses him back, neither yielding nor taking charge but simply _here_. His hands rise to cup John's face, fingers rubbing John's nape.

They stay like this for a short while. Then John breaks away for breath and grabs one of Harold's hands. He puts it over his crotch, lets Harold feel the unmistakable bulge of his erection under the robe.

"I have you," Harold says. "Hush." Then he takes the robe off John with careful, steady hands.

"I want his fucking taste out of my mouth." The words come out of John with a thick snarl. He yanks at Harold's pants.

Harold just says, "Allow me," stilling John's hands and undressing himself neatly and efficiently. He takes John's hand, takes them to the bedroom.

Once there, he directs John to lie on the bed with him. "No, here," Harold murmurs as John makes to get to his knees. "It's easier like this." He lies on his back, pats the space beside him until John sits down. "The angles..."

"Yeah, I see." Harold's dick curves up. With his back turned to Harold's face, bending to mouth at Harold's cock, it's easier to keep his jaw open and his lips over his teeth.

Sucking cock is awkward without using his gift. John goes deeper than he means to and gags, eyes tearing up. Harold patiently nudges him off and hands him some tissues, then says, "Do you want to keep going?" once John's wiped his eyes and his nose.

"Yeah," John says, and it's back to their previous position.

He has no idea if this is any good for Harold at all, except that Harold doesn't appear to have any issue with stopping and changing things - positions, rhythm, anything - to suit his liking. Also, Harold is making soft moans under him, and his dick is plenty hard.

Okay, so maybe there's some indication Harold isn't hating it. But John isn't as good at this without his gift, and it's frustrating to think of Harold having to patiently endure his clumsy efforts.

A gentle hand on John's forehead nudges him away. "I'm close," Harold says. John would argue, but every time he tries to swallow he ends up shaking out of his skin, so it's a moot point. "Would you mind lending me your hand?"

"Actually," John says, "I was hoping you'd fuck me."

Harold's eyes narrow slightly, examining John's face. John lets him have a good look. He's still open from before: Gianno got off on that, playing John with his fingers. He was pretty good at it. John's gift was the reason he couldn't keep his moans silent, but it wasn't the whole reason he made them to begin with.

Whatever Harold sees in John's face makes him nod. "Please lie down, then. I'd like to prepare you, if that's all right." John doesn't argue.

However good Gianno might be, Harold is better, with the added bonus of not being murderous scum. He keeps his eyes on John's face. Harold has a familiar concentrated expression, a little wrinkle that John leans up to kiss on a whim.

Harold's resulting smile, small as it is, lights up his entire face. There are so many things in his eyes, wordless and nameless and every single one good.

John lies back down with a sigh and spreads his legs, wanting.

Getting fucked is something John's done many, many times over his life. The sheer physical act with Harold isn't that outside his experience. At the same time, it's utterly unlike anyone he's been with before.

Harold takes him. Harold _has_ him, moving in John like John is a territory to be guarded: and his eyes are questioning, yearning. They never leave John's face.

The only reaction John can have to that is to softly groan and let himself fall open completely, let Harold touch everything. John comes with a slightly hysterical giggle at the thought of Harold polishing him clean with a pocket square, the same way he does to his glasses when the lenses get smudged.

Harold stills until John is completely spent, his hand still curled loosely around John's softening cock. "Do you want me to pull out?"

John shakes his head. "Come inside me."

Harold can keep a blank face all he likes, John _felt_ the way Harold's cock twitched at the sentence. John smiles slyly up at Harold and rocks his hips until Harold makes an urgent noise and thrusts, coming in a half dozen strokes.

It feels good to have Harold's weight on top of him. John's feeling oddly light, like he might drift away. Harold is nice and solid to hold on to, and the way he kisses John's face and pets his hair is just icing on the cake.

"Is there anything else you need?" Harold says, even though John can see his eyelids slipping shut, hear the faintest hint of a slur in his voice. "Food, perhaps, or--"

John kisses him. "I need you to sleep," he says. "Right here, with me."

Harold's smile is soft enough to break John's heart. "Gladly," he says, cuddling close.

John doesn't sleep. He holds Harold to him, skin to skin, and listens to the quiet sounds of the apartment around them, the city outside. It's warm under the blanket, and John can't think of anywhere he'd rather be.


End file.
